


A Fistful of Paintballs

by fullmetalscully



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: A little bit of fluff, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Not a lot but it's there, Paintball, Royai - Freeform, Team Bonding, Team Building, mention of PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:48:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullmetalscully/pseuds/fullmetalscully
Summary: Taking two steps at a time Mustang continued his escape down the stairwell, one shoulder and both his hands hitting the fire escape door at the bottom, exiting into the bright sunshine outside.He didn’t think about the red substance covering his hands.Pressing forward, bullets flying around his head, Mustang ran.chapter 1 prompt: "drive, bitch. drive!" "sir, please"chapter 2 prompt: paintball adventure // “i’m an angel with a shotgun” // “and to think i trusted you”chapter 3 prompt: “could you put that in a memo and entitle it SHIT I ALREADY KNOW"





	1. a fistful of paintballs

**Author's Note:**

> name of the fic is from season 2 of community, which this fic was inspired by

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i decided it was time to have a break from the angst fest and i had so much fun creating this one! hope you enjoy it!

**_“drive, bitch. drive!” “sir, please”_ **

Mustang vaulted over a crate and didn’t break a step as his feet connected with the ground again. He sprinted forward down the hallway, grabbing onto the doorframe at the end to swing himself around and through it – narrowly missing a bullet that hit the wall where his head had been. Taking two steps at a time he continued his escape down the stairwell, one shoulder and both his hands hitting the fire escape door at the bottom, exiting into the bright sunshine outside.

He didn’t think about the red substance covering his hands.

Pressing forward, bullets flying around his head, Mustang ran. His heart beating furiously, jumping every time a bullet whizzed past his head or hit the ground in the open courtyard. His arms pumped up and down, the weapon heavy in his hand, willing himself to move faster and escape his pursuers. Sweat prickled his skin in the heat of the afternoon but he couldn’t enjoy it. Not like this. Not when bullets continued to creep closer to his body, or while he was running to escape the assault behind him.

Shouts went up – the assailants commanding each other on how to move – but Mustang ignored them. He saw an opening, and he took it. Cutting left sharply he disappeared down an alleyway. He hurdled over old pallets, bags of rubbish, and dustbins. There was an echo behind him just as he reached the other side – signalling they had just entered the alleyway – but Mustang was already long gone.

A white van pulled up, stopping on the street dead ahead of him, and as the door slid open, he dived in, grateful for the protection.

“Drive, bitch, drive!” he cried, scrambling to close the van door just as a shout went up, the men and women lifting their weapons. Just as the door closed, neon orange, red, and green paint covered the window on the door, blocking out the sunlight.

“Sir, please,” Hawkeye replied with a sigh, pulling away from the curb slowly and in control, as if she was in the centre of the city, not in an old abandoned office building during a game of team building paintball.

“Hey, you did it!” Havoc congratulated Mustang, slapping him on the back. “You escaped. Nice one, boss!”

Breathing heavily, Mustang nodded with a smug grin. “It was a piece of cake.”

He caught Hawkeye rolling her eyes in the rear-view mirror.

“Was it in there?”

Mustang shook his head. “No. But they’re stuck there guarding it. We’re safe for now.” Hughes’ team was in one building and Armstrong’s was in the other while Mustang’s tried to retrieve a “prize” – a burlap sack. If they did it before time ran out, they won. Whichever team had the quickest time, won the day. Mustang’s team was the last to go and were doing well, but his heroic manoeuvre of pressing ahead himself had set them back a couple of minutes.

He just hoped nobody had really noticed.

Mustang leaned forward, pressing his body through the gap between the two chairs in the front so he could get a better view out of the front windscreen.

“Come on, Hawkeye!” he urged. “We’re in a race against the clock here! Pick up the speed!”

She sighed again.

“Sir, just because this is an abandoned street doesn’t mean we shouldn’t obey the traffic laws,” Falman piped up from the passenger’s seat.

“Guys,” Mustang whined like a baby. “Come on, we’ve got to win this! Or we’ll never hear the end of it from Hughes!”

“You’re the only one who cares so much about this, sir,” Hawkeye reminded him, slowing and signalling – actually _signalling_ – to turn right. On an empty street. “We’re just happy to participate and, you know, actually _work as a team_.”

So, she had noticed the time loss. Whoops.

“What’s your point, Lieutenant?” he grumbled.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied casually, pulling over and stopping. “Maybe the fact you split off from the team and went off on your own to try and retrieve the prize that would allow us to win? Or maybe the fact that you got yourself captured by Hughes’ team and we had to listen to him ramble on about his daughter, non-stop, for _fifteen minutes_ while _we_ organised a plan ourselves. Without you.”

“I had to listen to it too,” Mustang mumbled, looking very sheepish.

“And who’s fault was that?” she snapped.

“ _Guys_ ,” Breda barked. “Focus. We need a game plan. We’ve escaped Hughes’s team for now, but they’re holed up in that office block you escaped from, Mustang. Armstrong’s team is in this one here, so what do we do?”

“Scope it out from here,” Hawkeye stated before Mustang could open his mouth. “See if there are any patrols then take it from there.”

“I thought I was team leader,” Mustang muttered.

“You gave up that right when you decided to go off on your own,” Hawkeye snapped, tone hard and unforgiving.

He supposed he deserved that.

“You deserved that,” Havoc whispered, leaning over.

“Yes, _thank you_ , Havoc,” Mustang replied through gritted teeth.

“One problem,” Fuery piped up. “We only have twenty minutes left.” He checked the stopwatch circling his neck. “Not a lot of time to sit and scope it out. We have to move.”

“Okay,” Breda sighed. “Let’s get out and press forward.”

Hawkeye cocked her paintball gun. “Let’s move.”

This whole day was part of a team building exercise General Grumman had set up. The military had a lot of old office buildings lying around Amestris which they’d revamped for training purposes. The General had the bright idea to pit teams against each other in a paintball match in order to work on not only teamwork, but combat and shooting abilities too.

 Hawkeye took the lead with a grumbling Mustang on her left flank and Havoc on her right. Breda covered behind them while Falman and Fuery took the left and right, respectively. Her sharp eyes would do them good as she surveyed the three-story office block, scanning to pick out any movement in the windows.

“Maria Ross just passed on the top floor, third window in,” she murmured. It was quiet but the team could all hear her news through the earpieces that had been gifted to them for the exercise. “Stay sharp.”

That’s why everyone was irritated with Mustang. He’d gone off on his own to try and retrieve the prize from Hughes’ building, only to discover it wasn’t there, and to end up being captured by him. Hughes was a sick man, especially when it came to an intense game of paintball. Standing with a paintball gun aimed at Mustang’s chest while he rambled about just how gosh darn _cute_ his daughter was – complete with a slideshow of pictures in his wallet – left him stuck and unable to escape. Something had distracted Hughes from outside and Mustang had used that opportunity to escape.

“Take cover!” Breda suddenly shouted and all six of them dove behind something in unison. The sound of the guns firing filled the air as everyone righted themselves, trying to pinpoint where they were coming from.

“Top floor, second window in!” Hawkeye shouted, lifting her weapon.

“First floor, on the far right!” Havoc offered.

“The doorway!” Fuery added on.

That was three. There were six on Armstrong’s team. Where were the other three?

Mustang peeked over the top of his half crumbling wall, eyes scanning the windows. It was a fruitful effort, because he spotted Armstrong’s hulking form through the window on the second floor.

“Armstrong is on the second floor!” he told the rest of the team.

“Roger. That’s where the bag is,” Breda stated. It was a rule that the team leader had to remain on the floor where the bag was located at all times, but they didn’t need to stand next to it. Mustang made a note of this, lifting his weapon to fire at Denny Brosh. He hit him on the arm, neon orange paint spraying over his military blues.

“Oh, man!” he complained. Lifting a fist over his head to signal he’d been shot and was out of the match, he trudged outside and across the abandoned road, taking a seat on a bench to watch over the rest of the match.

“One down. Stay sharp. There’s still five more.”

“Thank you for the sharp observation, sir,” Hawkeye quipped, moving up without alerting anyone beforehand.

Oh, she was _pissed_.

He _did_ leave the team to stage an attempt to grab the prize by himself, but Mustang saw an opportunity and he took it. Granted, it didn’t work out as intended, but this was a dumb training exercise, not real life. It was paintball, for crying out loud. It was already ridiculous enough as it was. Why not have a little fun with it?

“Fuery,” he called to his left. “I’m moving up. Cover me.”

“Roger that, sir!”

Mustang came to a stop beside Hawkeye, resting his weapon on top of the crate and popping off a few more shots to supress Maria Ross.

“Sir,” she greeted sourly.

“Hey, Hawkeye,” he replied cheerily, ignoring her tone. “Ready to storm the castle?”

“Just stay out of my way,” she griped, moving up again without alerting it to the team.

Sheesh. And _he_ was the one who acted alone.

Mustang followed behind her, firing off more suppressive shots above them to protect Hawkeye’s back. Once inside they paused for breath, ears straining to hear any movement. There were footsteps above them, but that was it.

“You take left, I’ll take right,” Hawkeye commanded, already moving.

“Can you wait a second –?”

She was already gone.

With a huff, Mustang moved left towards the stairwell.

The area was clear on his end, but he heard guns being fired and disappointed cries coming from ahead of him as he moved. Weapon raised, eyes searching, body ready for attack, Mustang pressed forward.

Movement from the right caught his eye and he whipped around to fire, only for the weapon to be jerked upwards, causing him to hit the ceiling. A forearm was pressed against his throat as he was forcefully pushed, his back painfully hitting the wall behind him. He grunted and struggled, before recognising who his assailant was in the dim light.

“Oh, Hawkeye, it’s you,” he replied, relieved. With a hard look she held onto the grip on his throat a little longer than necessary before moving away. “All right, what are you so pissed about?”

“You know exactly what,” she replied, narrowing her eyes dangerously.

“Look, I saw an opportunity and I took it. It’s just a dumb game –”

“To you, maybe,” she spat. “But to the rest of us we actually _want_ to work together. Too bad your ego is too big you can’t allow us to win together. You always have to do it alone, don’t you?”

Mustang blinked at her, taken aback. Where was this coming from?

“Hawkeye, what –?”

“You know what, forget it,” she scoffed. “We’ve got a game to win. If you don’t want to work together then leave and get out of our way.”

“Listen –”

“No, _you_ listen,” she rounded on him, weapon dropping to hang by her side as she poked him in the chest. “We’re _supposed_ to be a team, but you chose to go off on your own. But I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

Anger creeped into his chest at the accusation. Reaching up to his ear he removed the earpiece. Hawkeye followed suit. This was not a conversation the others should here.

“What exactly do you mean by that, Lieutenant?”

“You like going off to play the hero, don’t you? Leaving the rest of us behind while you go and search for glory.”

Mustang grasped her gently by the elbow, leading her out of the hallway and into a room on the left, towards the back of the building and out of view of Fuery.

“Is this about me leaving for the military? Or for Ishval?” The look on her face told him it was both. “I thought we discussed this.”

“We did, but apparently you’re slipping back into your old ways with no regrets about who you leave behind.”

“That’s unfair. Do you want to know _why_ I entered that building alone without you and held the team back?”

“Enlighten me.”

He took a deep breath, bracing himself. He didn’t doubt Hawkeye was ready to hand his ass to him, especially after this revelation. “Because Hughes warned me not to let you go in.”

“Why?” she asked indignantly.

“Listen, I made a call and I don’t regret it.”

“ _Roy_ –” she stressed, and Mustang could see her irritation threatening to spill over.

“It reminded him too much of Ishval.”

“What?”

“I…” He sighed. “I noticed it when I went in. There was a sniper placed at one window, shrouded in cover, firing as I entered. Inside there was sand on the floor and the heaters were on to simulate the desert. I don’t know if it was intentional or not, I’m still not sure. But Hughes told me not to let you enter it. He’d guarded that building before while we were in the other, and based on his recommendation, I went in myself.”

“What?” she repeated again, still irritated, but looking less angry. “I wasn’t _allowed_ to go in?”

“He thought it best for you not to enter. Listen,” Mustang urged quickly, gripping her shoulders gently. “I was in there and it literally took me back there. Hughes found me when I was on knees, transported back to the desert and helped me up. That’s why the comm went silent. He helped me through an episode by rambling about his kid, giving me something else to focus on. That’s what you guys heard.”

“So, why wasn’t I –”

“We both took the war hard. I know that.”

“Yes, you harder than most.”

“I know. But _I_ was team leader and tasked with scoping out the building. I was looking out for you. Plus, what use were two soldiers out of commission?” he reasoned, knowing Hawkeye wouldn’t protest that logic. “Hughes had the opportunity to put me out, but he didn’t, because he knew you would probably just come in instead. So, we staged a capture to keep you guys out. I didn’t –” He swallowed, feeling that familiar anxiety build in his chest. It had been a constant friend since the war and as he entered that first building it had overwhelmed him, leaving him reeling and on the floor, suffering from a panic attack as he had a flashback.

“What?” Hawkeye asked, voice soft.

“I didn’t want you to see me like that.”

“I already have,” she reminded him gently. A hand rose to cup his cheek and he offered her a smile.

“I know, but this was supposed to be a bit of fun. Not end up with me having a mental breakdown.”

“Why did you hide it?”

“I didn’t want to, not from you, but the others –”

“You didn’t want them to see,” Hawkeye realised.

“Yeah,” he replied sheepishly.

“While I appreciate you trying to protect me from that, I would rather have been in there with you to help. Plus, _we’re_ supposed to be a team,” she gestured between them both. “You watch my back and I watch yours.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I was never questioning that.”

Hawkeye sighed, shaking her head with a small smile on her face. “I know you wouldn’t. Do over?”

Hawkeye nodded with a wry smile. “Just don’t do it again. We protect each other. It’s not one sided.”

“Of course.”

Movement caught Mustang’s eye at the door, Maria Ross spinning around the door frame, weapon raised. He spun Hawkeye behind him, putting her out of harm’s way. Well, as harmful as paintball pellets could be. Her face was surprised at the sudden movement, but the paint hit Mustang’s chest instead of Hawkeye’s back. He grunted in pain, the bullets packing more of a punch than he expected.

Ross jumped backwards as paint pellets flew past her, disappearing out of sight.

“Ouch,” he grimaced.

“Sir,” Hawkeye admonished at his actions.

He shrugged. “I was watching your back,” he grinned. “Quite literally,” he added, causing Hawkeye to smile. He grimaced again, stretching out his chest to try and shift the pain.

“What, never been hit by a paintball pellet before?” Hawkeye quipped.

“No, actually,” he boasted with a grin. “I was always too good.”

 “Sir! No!” Havoc cried suddenly from the doorway, racing over to Mustang and gripping his shoulders. Hawkeye swapped with him and moved to the doorway to fire, hitting Ross with her neon green paint. Grumbling, Ross left down the stairwell Havoc and Mustang had entered through.

Hawkeye rolled her eyes as Havoc knelt, gripping his commanding officer’s hand in his, bracing another on his shoulder as Mustang’s knees shook and he “fell” to the floor.

“Remember me,” he cried dramatically, adding in a wracking cough as he sank to his knees on the floor. “As I was.”

“An asshole who made us do all his dirty work for him?” Havoc quipped, face expectant, breaking out into a shit eating grin.

Mustang frowned.

“We need to go, Havoc,” Hawkeye reminded him.

“Take me with you,” he groaned, sinking to his knees, playing up his “death” because why the hell not? This was supposed to be a bit of fun and the air had been cleared between him and Hawkeye, making him feel better, his chest lighter. “You wouldn’t leave your dying CO behind, would you?” he pleaded.

“Havoc, he’s out of the game. Leave him there, we’ve got a game to win and we’re running out of time.”

“Yeah, you know what, boss? You’re dead. Sorry.”

Mustang’s cry of protest was muffled as Havoc’s hand landed on his face, pushing him roughly back down to the floor.

“Hey!” Mustang shouted angrily as his teammates forged ahead, leaving him behind. With a huff, he stood and lifted his fist above his head sullenly, stomping outside and joining Brosh and Ross on the bench.

“Mustang,” Grumman greeted cheerily as he approached. “Brosh, Ross.” The three of them stood and saluted the General, who waved away the formality. “This is a training day. Forget the salutes for now.”

“Yes, sir,” Mustang replied, taking a seat again.

“I took the liberty of tuning into your team’s comms, Mustang. That was quite a show.”

He felt shame curdling in his chest, mixed with embarrassment. Hawkeye had been right, of course, but the fact the General and the rest of the team had heard the initial outburst too? That thought slipped his mind.

Laughing at his misfortune, Grumman clapped him on the back. “It was about time someone put you in your place,” he grinned. “That Hawkeye appears to be a strong willed one. She will do well working with you.”

Mustang didn’t doubt it. They’d been working together for only a few months and while it was hard to hide his true feelings from the world as she handed him a stack of paper, their fingers brushing together, or when he held the door open for her and she brushed past him, he did it because they had a job to do.

It didn’t mean it was easy. Before Ishval he’d left with the promise of returning to her and marrying her. Hawkeye was very aware of this fact, then everything changed in that desert. Where that left them now, he was unsure. A lot had been discussed under the moon and inside tents in Ishval, but they were charged and said in the heat of the moment. Now, where they were safe and war, death, and destruction, wasn’t all around them, the conversation needed to happen again.

At least today had been a start.

And Grumman was right, she would do well working with him because she already knew not to take any of his shit. She’d had years of practice already and honestly? Mustang was looking forward to their path ahead. With Hawkeye by his side he knew they could accomplish anything.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how your team performs, Mustang, now that you are out of the picture. This is just a new team, yes?”

“Yes, sir. I formed it a few months ago.”

“Excellent. This exercise shall prove rather useful for you all, then.”

“Of course, sir.”

Looking on and listening in to their communication was eye opening. They really _did_ work excellently together. Individually they were good soldiers, but together, they seemed unstoppable.

Hawkeye took on the leadership role well and was a natural at distributing orders to the rest of them. Havoc was excellent support, backing up Hawkeye without question. Fuery still remained outside, situated further back from before, however it gave him a better view of the building as a whole and he was passing on the location of the opposition as he saw them pass by the windows, occasionally popping off a shot to direct his team or scare the other side. Breda and Falman were back up to Hawkeye and Havoc, keeping an eye out behind them and the strategy worked extremely well. Communication was short, sharp, and effective.

Mustang felt pride build in his chest at his newly selected team. He felt excited for what the future held for them because they could very easily become the best.

“A lot of people are saying this is an unconventional team you’ve set up, Mustang,” Grumman ventured.

“Do they, sir?” he asked, not giving into the rise.

“They do. A lot of new officers there.”

“They’re new, but as you can clearly see,” he added, gesturing towards the building, indignation building in his chest. “They’re some of the best.”

Grumman was silent, but he grinned and chuckled to himself. “That they are, Mustang. Good job. It’s helpful to have a good team behind you, supporting you.” Mustang caught his meaning. After all, Grumman was his mentor of sorts. His approval of Mustang’s choices meant more to him than he cared to admit. Regardless, Mustang wouldn’t change his team even if the General didn’t approve.

A victory cry went up over the earpiece. His team had done it.

Pride surged in his chest.

“Well done,” Grumman congratulated, patting him on the shoulder. “Your team was the fastest, even without your guidance,” he joked, waggling his eyebrows before laughing at his irritated expression.

He didn’t appreciate the joke at his expense, but he didn’t regret putting himself in front of the bullet for Hawkeye, effectively putting himself out of the game. He knew he’d do it again, not just for her, but for all his teammates, in a heartbeat, paintball game or not.

That’s how much she, and this team, meant to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! :D


	2. for a few paintballs more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you incognito4713 for this prompt!

**_paintball adventure // “i’m an angel with a shotgun” // “and to think i trusted you”_ **

“Okay, this is still the same as last year people, except we have two additional members of the team,” Mustang stated, looking each of his team members in the eye. They all looked expectantly back, awaiting their orders. Edward and Alphonse were the two new team members. Grumman thought it would be fun to let Alphonse join in, despite him not being a part of the military. The man was strange, but it did mean that the teams were evened out. Mustang was confident his team could win while being outnumbered, but Grumman disallowed it.

“We can only hope it’s different from last year,” Havoc muttered under his breath, causing Breda to snicker beside him. Mustang just glared at them.

“It’s a fair assessment, sir,” Hawkeye pointed out, shooting him A Look. It told him “ _you better not pull the same shit as last year. We’re_ supposed _to be a team_ ”.

Mustang huffed in irritation, his frown deepening then groaning quietly as Edward piped up. “What happened last year?”

“The boss took on Hughes’ team by himself – during a team building exercise, mind you – and left us in the dust.”

“Figures,” Edward muttered, gaining a glare from his commanding officer. That received a disapproving scoff from his younger brother.

“Hawkeye put him in his place though,” Havoc added with a chuckle.

“Let’s just get this done, okay?” Mustang huffed, attempting to cut off the conversation.

“That all depends on you, sir,” Havoc replied. There were a few more snickers throughout the team.

“All right,” he announced, truly irritated. “Let’s move out. You all know what to do.” He stomped out the room, pulling his face mask down to shield his face from the pain. As always, Hawkeye followed dutifully behind him.

“You know, it _was_ a fair point,” she pointed out. Her poker face was spot on, but he just _knew_ she was far too amused by this.

“Are you _still_ pissed about that?”

“Not at all, but I do hope you’ve learned your lesson. Besides, we agreed as a team it would be essential Edward and Alphonse knew about your little attempt at heroism last year. It would let them know what to expect.”

“I wasn’t playing at being the hero –!”

“Would you rather we told them the truth?” Hawkeye retorted, her gaze moving to look at him sideways. “Because I’d prefer it if we didn’t,” she added quietly. “Not yet anyway.”

Mustang sighed – long and heavy. “You’re right, as always. And to think, I trusted you,” he grumbled, but shot her a quick smirk to show he was joking.

Shoving the door open with more force than necessary, Mustang lifted his paintball gun, firing once as to put out one of Hughes’ men. He groaned loudly, having been the first person removed from the exercise after only a minute.

“Someone is touchy this morning,” Havoc muttered in passing, putting another person out of the game. It was effortless the way they operated, a credit to their bond. They weren’t just colleagues; they were all friends and that played a large part in their ability to get the job done effectively and efficiently. Any doubts the higher ups had of his team had been turned to ash in the last year because they’d become the most proficient team in East City HQ.

“Just tired of putting up with your usual bullshit, Havoc, and we’ve only been in each other’s company for eighteen minutes.”

Havoc chuckled. “I always aim to please.”

“Well work harder, because you’re doing terribly.”

“Will it come up in my performance review?” he quipped, effortlessly firing off a few more shots without breaking a sweat. Hawkeye moved up, coming shoulder to shoulder with Havoc while Mustang begun to trail behind. The earpieces they used last year had come into play again, and even though he was getting a ribbing, Mustang rather enjoyed the way they could banter back and forth when they were out of speaking range.

“No,” Mustang grumbled.

“Then not doin’ it,” Havoc called back to him, making Mustang wince at the volume in his ear.

“We have earpieces, Havoc,” Breda barked in their ears. “Stop shouting. Idiot,” he added with a mutter.

“Movement on the first floor, far left window,” Hawkeye stated. All banter was dropped for the moment as everyone zeroed in on that location while Falman and Fuery covered their flanks, keeping an eye out for any bogeys incoming.

As they entered the building everyone split off into teams of two. Mustang and Hawkeye took the first floor and cleared it out no problem. This year, Grumman became more inventive with his weapon choices. Smoke bombs – although less harmful than proper ones – were on the table and Havoc was _very_ excited about that. He hadn’t shut up about it all week. So, naturally, as Mustang and Hawkeye entered the room where the prize might have been held, a smoke bomb went off in front of them in the direction from where Havoc and Fuery were supposed to enter. They both dived into cover, anticipating another attack, waiting in silence.

“Who’s there?” an unrecognisable voice called into the smoke.

“I’m an angel with a shotgun,” Havoc replied. Hawkeye rolled her eyes before she heard the gunshot. Stepping out from her cover, she picked off Hughes with a shot to his chest, having spotted him shortly after exiting cover. His paint splattered with neon yellow paint and he stood there, frozen in shock. One of his men – the one Havoc had just eliminated – was already standing, defeated, in front of Hughes. The latter

“Damnit!” Hughes whined.

“Hawkeye,” Havoc whined too, even worse than Hughes. “You stole my final shot.”

“Yeah, well, you deserved to lose it with that stupid line,” she bit back.

“Game, set, and match, Hughes,” Mustang announced smugly, walking up to their target and plucking it from the pedestal it was resting on.

Hughes chuckled. “You just got lucky,” he winked, shaking each of their hands in turn. “Good game, old friend. At least this year you managed to make it to the end.” He snickered at Mustang’s glare, causing the whole group to break out into laughter.

“Did we win?” Edward asked through the earpiece.

“We won, kid,” Havoc replied. Come to the first floor, I’ll meet you there.” He exited the room, taking Fuery with him to signal to the others which room they were in. Hughes and his man exited to join his other defeated comrades outside, leaving Mustang and Hawkeye in the room alone with their prize.

“Well, was _that_ better than last year?” he asked, removing his earpiece.

“Much better,” Hawkeye smiled. “See what happens when you’re actually a team player?” she quipped, grinning at the surprise on his face. She gave him a quick kiss as she left, chuckling at the now pure shock on his face.

“Hey now, wait a minute,” Mustang called as they left, stumbling over his own feet to catch up with Hawkeye. “I, uh,” he stuttered, trying to gather himself after Hawkeye just kissed him. At work. After their paintball training exercise. The sounds of her quiet laughter was music to his slightly pink ears and did nothing for the blush that had begun to dust his cheeks. But it didn’t stop him from grinning though after he composed himself.


	3. modern warfare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to snowdog49 for the prompt!
> 
> mustang takes the paintball game very seriously while hawkeye and havoc see it as an opportunity to tease their commanding officer

_**“could you put that in a memo and entitle it SHIT I ALREADY KNOW”** _

“Remember the first one?” Havoc whispered conspiratorially to his teammate beside him, who proceeded to snort at Mustang’s expense.

“How could I forget?” Hawkeye asked.

“Remember me!” Havoc mocked. “As I was!”

“If we survive this,” Mustang uttered through clenched teeth. “I’m gonna kill both you. Slowly.”

Havoc cackled in response while Hawkeye laughed quietly, picking off another soldier who thought they’d be sneaky and try flank them from behind. Neon green paint splattered on his chest and Hawkeye watched as his shoulders slumped and the man grumbled behind his helmet, leaving the room in defeat.

“You wanted this assignment,” Hawkeye reminded him, eyes scanning the towers of tyres in front of them in case anyone would try and jump out and surprise them. To try and mix things up, Grumman’s annual paintball game had been tweaked this year. Each larger team was broken into two and would face off against the others, both trying to earn points for the large team’s overall tally.

This time, Mustang’s team had to guard the prize, and the team consisted of him, Hawkeye, and Havoc. Breda, Falman, and Fuery were facing off against the other half of Hughes’ team.

So, they were stuck in this cramped square marked out on the floor with tape, guarding the “prize” – a burlap sack with nothing in it. The military would splash out for a full paintball course for team building, but the glamourous “prize” was a ratty, threadbare, sack. Apparently, they were only partly willing. Nothing but the best for Amestrian soldiers.

In his boredom, Havoc had decided to begin tormenting their poor commanding officer. It was an exercise in seeing just how far he could push his CO and after the fiasco of the first year’s match – Mustang running off on his own to play the hero – Havoc was more than ready to get him back. Hawkeye, saw the benefits of some friendly payback, and couldn’t help but laugh at Havoc’s jokes.

It was safe to say – at about thirty minutes in – their teasing was grating on Mustang’s nerves.

“If you did kill us,” Havoc proposed his thought. “Who would do your paperwork for you? We all _know_ Hawkeye saves your ass on that almost every day. If she’s dead, who’s gonna do it? Because I sure as shit am _not_ going to. Not only that, but who would be your wingman? You would never get a girl without your best wingman Jean by your side.”

This time both Mustang and Hawkeye snorted. Havoc frowned.

“He’s right though, sir. Just how _would_ you cope if I wasn’t there, I wonder?” she grinned.

“I’d be just fine, thank you very much,” he muttered sullenly. Mustang lifted his paintball gun and fired quickly, disabling another soldier. By his count, there were only two left in the game. Two more chances they could sneak up on them and get the prize.

“Hm,” Havoc considered, cocking his head. “I don’t think so. I think you’d fall apart.”

“Shut it, Havoc,” he bit out.

“No seriously, I genuinely do. What do you think, Hawkeye?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think he’d last a _day_.” She fired, taking out another. One left.

“Oh, a day is generous. Try and hour.”

“Havoc,” Mustang barked, interrupting them. “Watch that corner and let me know if anyone comes around it –”

Just as he finished his sentence, a man spun around the wall of tyres and fired, narrowly missing Mustang’s head. The retaliation put the faceless soldier out the game as Mustang’s neon yellow paint splattered across the vest on his chest.

The courtyard was silent as the soldier walked away, defeated.

“Hey, Mustang?” Havoc asked and hid his grin when he noticed the vein popping out of his forehead in anger.

“What, Havoc?” he asked through grit teeth.

“There was a guy coming around those tyres.”

“Great. Great! That’s great Havoc, thanks for letting me know!” he raged as Havoc cackled at how much he’d wound the great Colonel Mustang up. He was oddly proud that he was irritating enough to get his commanding officer to snap. “Could you put that in a memo and entitle it SHIT I ALREADY KNOW.”

“Will do, boss. Do you want that right now? Or do you want it tomorrow morning?”

“Gah!” Mustang stood and stormed off as Hawkeye chuckled behind him.

“Seriously, do you want it now? I can just ask Grumman to give me a pass and I can go and get it –”

Mustang spun in place, seething, but Havoc just grinned, aggravating him further.

“Shut up,” Mustang spat, pointing a finger at his Second Lieutenant.

“Can do, boss,” he quipped, giving him a mock salute.

Their CO stomped away. The game was won but he was irritated to the max. He needed a break from their stupid teasing.

Of course, Hawkeye followed him with a satisfied smirk on her face.

“What do you want?” he asked sullenly. He plonked himself down on a bench, crossing his arm over his chest petulantly.

“You know we both say it with love,” she smiled, taking a seat next to him.

He muttered something under breath and Hawkeye chuckled in response.

“I would say justice has been served,” she told him softly, placing a hand on his knee and giving it a squeeze. “That’s what you get for the first year,” she added, eyes sparkling in amusement. Despite how irritating she’d been, Roy couldn’t help his expression softening when he saw just how beautiful she looked when she smiled like that.

“I suppose I deserved it.”

“Suppose?” Riza echoed, the amusement still lighting up her face.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. Riza placed a kiss against his cheek before rising.

“Come on, grumpy pants. Let’s go see how the rest got on.” She extended her hand to him. Mustang took it eagerly, not letting go once he was standing. Grasping the gun, he’d discarded at the side of the bench, he lifted their joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of her hand.

“I suppose I can always count on you to hold me accountable for my actions then?”

“Always, sir.”

“Good. I made a good choice then, entrusting my life to you.”


End file.
